


Die At The Break Of Day

by ScarTissue



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Character Death, This was supposed to be purely family-ish but some tension crept in, so its open to intrepretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1391578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarTissue/pseuds/ScarTissue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"My first winter as a spirit, I saw this funeral," Jack said, voice quiet as a breeze, "Its still one of the damn saddest thing I've ever come across."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Die At The Break Of Day

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution for easter, I guess?I wanted to do a more family oriented one, but it still came out as tense. I might do a happier one, closer to the actual holiday.

In retrospect, Aster admitted to being a bit intrusive.

 

Jack had sat still as a statue on frozen ground, arms hanging limp from the elbow as they rested on his knees, crouched down on thin ankles in the dawn. The sun was barely peeking through the early morning mist, a pale pink-orange-gray streak in the sky. The light did not strike the boy, but softly illuminated his hair to a soft silver, his somber eyes a darker blue, pale face drawn and perhaps... Older.

 

Maybe that was why he could not walk away.

 

"Frostbite?" Aster questioned, voice subdued in deference to the quiet of the early hour. To disturb it felt blasphemous, and he almost cringed at the small, deep sound.

 

If Jack had heard him, he gave no indication, not even a twitch. Even as Aster crept up behind him, close enough to see the stone he sat in front of in the fog, the lack of reaction drew him in further still out of both curiosity and a small amount of concern.

 

While he could not make out the writing, eyes weak from his fatigue, Aster slowed to a stop just as his leg brushed Jack's shoulder, and stole a glance at the rock in front of the two. It was roughly rectangular, crumbling with age, and the gray slate was faintly inscribed in what could've been older english's stark print. It took a minute for the pieces to fall together.

 

 

 

 

Jack sat silent as the grave he faced, and Aster felt something in him give a great heave and a dull ache spread in his chest.

 

 

 

 

"Jack..."

 

 

 

He shouldn't do this. He should haul the boy up, goad him into a race or a spar, drag him far away from this spot, before the sun rose and the kids came out. By all means, prodding Jack out of his funk would probably be best for them all, stave off the breakdown that loomed over the minds of all immortals, the oncoming storm that swept sanity away after eroding for years and years and years.

The guardian of joy shouldn't be so contemplative.

 

 

But... The pooka knew so little about him. Jack was cagey, stubborn, and had a tendency to clam up when he saw the slightest hint of "feelings" creep into a conversation. He was curious, damn him. Curious and afraid for someone he had little right or reason to be thinking about at all. Aster reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but stopped himself before his fur even brushed the fabric of Jack's hoodie. Their relationship was one of barbs and grudging respect, and a pleasant camaraderie at the very best of times. Easter 2012 hadn't been more than a few years ago, after all. He didn't know if Jack would accept his comfort.

 

Luckily, Jack still seemed to be off somewhere Aster couldn't follow. When he spoke, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

 

"My first winter as a spirit, I saw this funeral," Jack said, voice quiet as a breeze, "Its still one of the damn saddest thing I've ever come across."

 

Aster waited as Jack paused. He didn't even breathe, terrified to break whatever trust was slowly blooming in front of them like a moon flower, small and easily killed.

 

 

"Everyone was crying, and wouldn't talk, but the kids were just- just wailing at the tops of their lungs. You'd have thought God himself was lying in the coffin. I cried a little myself.'' A wry smirk struggled to life on his face, and died a valiant death a second later.

 

"They had this coffin. It was a little small, nothing special. But... It was empty. I could hear the rocks in it."

 

Jack hunched in on himself, and gripped the sides of his knees so tight his fingers turned even whiter than usual, bone against the dark leather.

 

"I wonder if it would've changed anything," he murmured, "if I'd known it was mine."

 

Oh gods.

 

Jack doesn't ever shift his gaze from the stone, and no water wells in his eyes, already a drowning pool on their own.

 

Aster takes a deep breath, and wants to let out a scream. Some part of him must have considered that Jack had become a spirit after death. He knew he had been human once, some three hundred years ago, he had seen his teeth for MiM's sake. But spirits looked as they were shaped to look by their maker, so Aster had always thought... Always assumed that Jack changed to fit his legend. For some reason the few who believed in Jack Frost thought he was a skinny teenager, sixteen at most, and why wouldn't the personification of fun and joy look like a child?

 

Aster felt sick at himself, for not looking closer. In hindsight, even now, he could see no magic blurring the winter spirit's body, making angles where there should be curves. Jack looked exactly as he in 68', in 2012, and every decade before that.

 

Those children hadn't wailed for their god. They had wailed for their **brother.**

 

"Yea," he whispered hoarsely, "It woulda changed everything."

Absolutely everything.

 

 

Jack peered over shoulder, up and up till he had Aster square in the eye, and he wondered how he might look to the ~~young man~~ boy. He was a **boy when you met** , his mind shrieked at him, you have been so unkind to a child, you've broken all your oaths, vows and creeds, _El-Ahrairah the judgements you have passed on this **child-**_

 

 

 

 

Somewhere in his inner turmoil, Jack had stood up unnoticed, now almost head-to-shoulder with the Pooka. He was no longer staring at the grave, but rather the distant sunlight beginning to burn off the mornings fog. A church bell clanged out from the town, shocking Aster back to reality.

 

Jack bumped Aster with his elbow.

 

"C'mon, cottontail," Jack said, voice steady again. Its still a bit subdued, but maybe- maybe it always has been.                                                  "The kids will be out soon. Can't see too much now, can they? Your accent might shatter some poor little patriot's dreams." He began to saunter off, no doubt to fly off once he reached the forest.

 

"Jack." Aster's hand felt surprisingly warm on top of Jack's thin shoulder, only a touch cooler than an average human's. He couldn't let him just- go off after this.

He wouldn't anyway, he realized.

 

"Ah- Ya wanna stay? Watch the ankle- bitahs with me?"

 

 

Jack turned around and searched his face for any sign of insincerity. It was not an unwarranted action.

 

Aster would rectify that.

 

And when Jack grinned at him suddenly, brighter than the sun shining on his face, an ear to ear genuine smile that light up a graveyard and a guilt stricken heart with hope, he thought maybe he could really fix this. All the past in between them can die here, at the dawn of a new Easter, a new day.

 

"Yea. Sounds fun."


End file.
